My Little Game
by You'llRememberMe
Summary: The NCIS team is drawn into a psycho's deadly game. Will they all survive? Who will stay strong? Who will break? The story will revolve mostly around Ziva and Gibbs, but the entire team is involved. DISCONTINUED due to excessive plot holes and underdeveloped plotline
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N: So this will be a multi-chapter story, and all I'm asking for is for you guys to review and let me know if I really should continue. "My Little Game" is kind of a working title; I'm not yet sure if I want to keep it. It was inspired by a line in this chapter, by the way, so it's not completely random._**

**_I'm sorry of the characters might seem a little OOC, but I'm working on it! And I like to think I'm pretty good at capturing who they are._**

**_Oh, and updates might be a little scarce seeing as how I still have 3 Psych stories going at the moment, but 2 of them are close to ending, and when they do, updates for this story will be much more frequent._**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own NCIS. If I did, I would've made Ziva a little more traumatized by her time in Somalia. I mean, it seems like she's just forgotten about it! We don't even know what happened to her there! Not really.**

**Anyway... ENJOY!**

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

_ If they had only looked a little closer..._

_ Had they seen the shadow coming from the crack under the door..._

_ Had they heard the sharp, mechanical sounds of a gun being loaded..._

_ If they had only payed attention, none of it would be happening. They wouldn't have been in this situation. They wouldn't have to face the harsh reality that was rearing it's ugly head. They wouldn't have to come face to face with Death._

_ Or rather, someone who seemed to _think _he was Death personified._

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

Leroy Jethro Gibbs lay awake in his bed, restless and unable to close his eyes for more than five seconds. He just couldn't seem to shake the unnerving feeling that something was wrong, and there was a good reason he couldn't.

He'd had this feeling before; many years ago. He'd had this exact same feeling when Shannon and Kelly were murdered.

Of course, he hadn't known what the feeling meant back then, but it was an old friend by now. While it had been an old acquaintance after the death of his wife and daughter, he'd slowly gotten to know it quite well over the years.

They'd met for the second time in his lifetime the day Kate Todd had died. A painful third meeting had taken place when Paula Cassidy was killed. Then there was the event when they'd really started to get to know each other: Jenny Sheppard's death.

The last time he'd felt the presence of what he called "The Warning" was when DiNozzo had started looking into Ziva David's apparent disappearance from the face of the Earth. At that point he and "The Warning" were old friends; he knew what it meant, and knew there was no stopping what was to come. That didn't mean he wouldn't try though.

So when his cell phone started ringing at three AM civilian time, he was out of his still-made bed like he hadn't even been lying down. He quickly walked over to his nightstand and opened the drawer. Inside were his gun and his cellphone, lying next to one another, both begging to be picked up and taken to work.

Gibbs ignored his gun for the time being and snatched the cellphone, "Gibbs."

_"Hello, Gibbs," _an unfamiliar voice crept through the speakers of the phone.

"Who the hell is this?" Gibbs demanded, leaking every ounce of his "take no shit" attitude into his voice.

The person on the other end chuckled, and that's how Gibbs knew he was dealing with a truly disturbed person. He could practically see the faceless person smile as he said, _"Who I am is unimportant. What _is _important is that I've made my move, and now it's your turn."_

"What are you talking about? Who are you?" This time when Gibbs reached into his nightstand drawer, he went for his gun.

_"Welcome to my game, Special Agent Gibbs," _was all that was said before the line went dead.

Gibbs holstered his gun and dashed out of his bedroom like it was on fire. Something was wrong, horribly wrong; he could feel it.

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

A none too gentle prodding on his left shoulder annoyed Timothy McGee to no end. He was sure it was Tony, and that prompted him to stay asleep, even though as he became more aware, he also became more aware of the uncomfortable position he was in. He'd fallen asleep at his desk with his head resting on his hands, which were splayed on his desk. It all made for a lot of muscle cramps.

Wait a minute...

He'd fallen asleep...

_Oh, shoot, _Tim thought dazedly, _I fell asleep at work. Gibbs is gonna kill me! _That thought provided the necessary motivation to wake Tim completely. Still, when he opened his eyes he felt groggy and unfocused, but that soon changed. Because once he was fully awakened, he realized the position he was in.

Tim saw the gun first; positioned right beside his face and pointing at his shoulder, it must've been what he'd been poked with a few minutes ago. Then he noticed the man in front of him. Tall and muscular, with a full head of brown hair that Tony would've envied, and a mustache to complete the image of a sophisticated man. His eyes though, told an altogether different story. Tim realized, while assessing the man, that he was completely insane. It didn't take a lot of skill to see it; the man's eyes were bright and had a crazed look in them. His focus was everywhere at once, but he still managed to keep the gun still, and trained on Tim. That wasn't what really labeled him as crazy though, what gave him away was that he hadn't bothered to hide his face from them, from cameras. _That _made him truly insane. And made Tim realize that this man probably wasn't interested in letting anyone live.

Since the man still hadn't said a word, Tim found his attention had now wandered over to his coworkers. They'd stayed at work late, finishing up an easy case. A drug deal gone bad, and the dealer on the run. Tim guessed they'd just forgotten to go home, like himself.

Tim found himself becoming increasingly panicked, noticing the vulnerable states his colleagues were in. How easy it would be for the strange man to just turn around and shoot them. Tim was beginning to think of himself as filling the role of protector now, seeing as how both Tony and Ziva were still dead to the world, and he was the only one awake and aware of the situation.

Tony still sat at his desk, like Tim, but he looked much more relaxed, what with his feet propped up on his desk and his head lolling backward. His mouth was open and he was snoring, or at least Tim _thought _he was snoring. It was difficult to tell if it was Tony or Ziva, both of them were reported snorers. Thinking of the former assassin Tim's attention went to Ziva. She was sprawled on the floor, on her stomach and with her hands acting like a pillow for her head. Her dark hair had come loose from it's tight pony-tail, and for a moment Tim thought she looked like the old Ziva. But Tim knew that that Ziva didn't exist anymore, and any traces that emerged from time to time were overpowered by the lingering memories of Somalia.

"Well, Agent McGee, now that you've had time to assess the current situation, I think it's time to get down to business," The man said, and his words caused a fearful shiver to run down Tim's spine. "But first," the man continued, "I think it's time to wake your friends."

Tim's eyes widened unbelievably while he stared in horror as the the man turned to face his two sleeping friends and aimed his gun at Tony, then, with only one hand, pulled out another gun and aimed it at Ziva. Tim stared in sick fascination as the man prepared to shoot, and he discovered that it was impossible for him to look away. He waited apprehensively for what he knew was inevitable.

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

Gibbs's car pulled to a screeching halt in the NCIS parking lot; he'd driven like Ziva would to get here, relying on only a gut feeling that told him to come here. It looked like the gut feeling had been right about where to come, too.

There were dozens of cars in the NCIS parking lot, even though it was after hours and very few people were ever there this late. Gibbs was out of his car in seconds, not even bothering to shut the door. He wanted -no- _needed _to know what was going on. On the way here he'd tried calling his team, and none of them had answered. Not DiNozzo. Not Ziva. Not even McGee had picked up his phone. Gibbs had then called Abby, just to make sure she was okay, and a disgruntled, half-asleep goth's voice had greeted him. It was a small comfort, knowing Abby was okay, but that still left the three members of the MCRT unaccounted for.

Gibbs strode over to a large group of people milling around one central car. He figured that whoever appeared to be in charge would be over there, and he was right. In the middle of the melee were Director Leon Vance and FBI agent Tobias Fornell. Neither man's appearance there surprised Gibbs, Vance being the director and the FBI being called in when government agents were the targets in a dangerous situation, but what _did _surprise Gibbs was the figure standing next to them.

Dr. Donald "Ducky" Mallard stood between Vance and Fornell, and he appeared to be giving them orders. Even in the midst of whatever situation he was in, Gibbs found that his friend still managed to make him smile.

"You _must _send a team in there, Director!" Ducky said to Vance.

"We don't know what's going on yet, Doctor, we can't risk-" Vance was cut off by the very same doctor he was addressing.

"But we _do _know what's going on in there! I've already told you what I-" Just then Ducky took in Gibbs' approaching form. "Jethro! Now that you've finally arrived we can start taking care of things like we should've done long ago," he gave pointed looks to Vance and Fornell, neither seemed to notice, or care.

"What 'things', Duck?" Gibbs asked.

Ducky looked to Vance and Fornell, challenging them to answer. For a moment no one spoke, but then Fornell stepped closer to Gibbs. The two men locked gazes, Fornell was the first to break contact, saying, "Your team's been taken hostage."

Gibbs had thought he'd prepared himself to hear something like this, but when the words reached him he still felt like a knife had penetrated his gut. He realized then that no matter how hardened you might be, you're still vulnerable.

Just then, before Gibbs could say anything, a young man wearing a navy blue jacket with "FBI" printed in yellow on the back scurried over to them. He was a scrawny boy, not much older than a college kid, but his voice didn't quaver when he addressed Fornell, "Sir, there's been a development."

"What?" Gibbs snapped before Fornell could say anything, fearing the worst. The kid looked at him quick, but thought better of replying directly to him.

He spoke to all four men when he reported this new "development", "The bugs we managed to plant within hearing range picked up on a noise."

"Well, what was it?" Gibbs was starting to get irritated, and, sensing this, the young man wasted no more time.

"The bugs picked up gunshots," he said, confirming Gibbs' suspicions. "We think someone might've been shot."

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

_**So, read and review! The more reviews this story receives, the sooner I'll update!**_


	2. Of Notes and Knives

**_A/N: So sorry for the ridiculously long wait! I really didn't mean for it to go on this long! I hope this chapter makes up for it :)_**

**_Let me know if it does in a REVIEW! Sorry, I can't help but beg :)_**

**_ENJOY!_**

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

Gibbs' face turned to stone, the expression of contempt for the young man before him frozen on his face. He didn't feel anything though; for him time had slowed down, nothing, nobody, moved. This lasted for a few seconds, and then things picked up when Ducky's lightly accented voice penetrated the silence.

"You see, Director?" The elderly man turned on his boss, "Don't you see that if we don't do something now one of _your _agents may die at the hands of whoever is inside there with them? We have to do something!" The last part was added with just the barest sense of desperation. Hinting that if things progressed from here, they were bound to only get worse.

"He won't kill 'em, Duck," Gibb's said before Vance could react to the doctor's statement.

Fornell turned to him, "What makes you so sure?"

"He told me," Gibbs answered, "that it's 'my turn', that he 'already made his move'."

There was a moment of silence after this, in which Gibbs noticed that the scrawny FBI kid was still standing there. He shot him a glare, clearly telling him to scram, and the kid was out of there so fast you'd swear he was never there at all. Suddenly the silence was broken as Vance, suspicious now, spoke up.

"What do you mean he told you?" The Director questioned, "Has the guy made contact with you? How do you even know he's a 'he', at all?"

"I got a call," Gibbs replied, feeling inclined to answer Vance's questions for once, "and that's what brought me here. It was a man's voice, and he said that he's made his move and now it's my turn. Called it his 'game'."

"Give me your phone," Fornell suddenly demanded, holding out his hand. Gibbs didn't make any move to comply. He couldn't see the point in giving Fornell his phone, which he would no doubt give to another inexperienced frat boy, who would then loose it in an evidence room somewhere.

"My God, Jethro," Fornell said, exasperated by his old friend's stubbornness, "just give me the damn phone!"

This time Gibbs did, while muttering something about how it was pointless. Fornell turned it on, opened the call log and called to another agent, "Braxton! Get over here!"

A young man soon approached, he was older than the first, but not nearly as confident. He spoke with a stutter when he talked, "Y-yes, Ag-Agent Fornell?"

"Trace this number," Fornell handed the phone number. "It's the most recent call listed."

"Y-ye-yes, sir," Braxton backed away quickly, and soon it was just the four men again.

Gibbs locked gazes with Fornell, "You won't get anything from the number."

"What makes you say that, Jethro?" Ducky, who'd been eager to make any headway with this case, asked.

"He's organized," Gibbs said simply, as if it was that simple, "He already had my number; odds are that he has all of our numbers." Gibbs paused, "Even if you can figure out who he is and where he made the call it wouldn't make a difference; he probably didn't even make the call from his own home, or wherever it is he's staying. A guy like this doesn't just do things on a whim, he has it all planned out."

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

Even before the two shots were loosed, Tim mourned his colleagues. To him, it seemed, there was no way out. No way for them to escape what surely was to come next. He believed that once they were gone, he wouldn't be far behind. He'd closed his eyes, bracing himself. He didn't want to have to witness their deaths. It was bad enough having to see Kate just after she was shot, even after she'd been cleaned up.

Then he'd heard them.

_BANG!_

_ BANG!_

Both were fired simultaneously, and Tim flinched when it happened, he couldn't help it. Like he couldn't help the pinpricks he felt behind his eyelids. Then he did something he hadn't thought he'd be able to. He opened his eyes.

And what he saw surely wasn't what he'd been expecting.

He saw Tony jerk awake, only to tumble off his chair and land in a heap on the floor. He didn't move after that.

Then he saw Ziva flinch into consciousness, her head shot up, and, for a moment she caught Tim's stare. He expected her head to slump back to the floor, lifeless, but that didn't happen. She sprung up from her position on the floor, reached into her pocket, and pulled out a shiny silver blade. She flung it at the man before them.

Tim thought Ziva's aim was perfect. The knife was flying straight at the man's face, but right before it got within a few feet of his head, the man moved to the side and the knife sailed harmlessly past his head. To Tim's satisfaction though, the man didn't escape entirely unscathed. He now had a brand new haircut he probably hadn't expected on getting.

Then, before anyone had fully reacted, Tim wondered how Ziva had been able to toss the knife at the guy that shot at her. He'd aimed the gun right at her, she should be on the ground, bleeding, like... Like Tony...

Tim had seen him fall, and hadn't seen any movement since then. He quickly looked over, and was saddened to see that Tony still hadn't moved. Just as he was about to begin the mourning process all over again though, he saw that Tony's hands weren't in the same position that they had been in when he first fell out of his chair. Originally, they'd just been splayed on the floor, probably in some last attempt to brace for the impact of the fall from his chair. But now his hands were placed on his head, in an attempt to shield himself no doubt. The corner's of Tim's lips twitched, but he fought the urge to smile. He didn't want to draw attention to the fact that Tony was still alive, especially if this guy had meant to kill him.

It wouldn't be long before he noticed though, because there was no pool of blood. Not under Tony, and not on Ziva. Tim was still sure that both guns had been trained on his colleagues though, at least he _was, _until he saw the two holes in the floor.

Tim felt a wave of relief that none of them were dead. However, it was soon chased away by the feeling of dread; because if this guy was planning on letting them live a while longer, that meant he had something... special in store for them. There was no doubt in Tim's mind that he had it all planned out, too.

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

It'd been a few minutes since the ordeal inside, unbeknownst to the group _outside, _had gone down, and in that time they'd made no progress. Vance and Fornell wanted to make a positive ID on the guy before they did anything, and Ducky and Gibbs wanted to try and get eyes inside the bullpen.

They were still arguing when Gibbs noticed a familiar car pull up next to where Gibbs had parked his own. He couldn't help but smirk when the driver's door opened and he saw familiar black pigtails stomp over to where the four men were congregating.

"_What _is going on here exactly?" Forensic specialist Abby Sciuto asked, "And _why _didn't anybody tell me about it?"

"Miss Sciuto," Vance addressed the goth, "there's nothing you can do right now, and before you get too upset I'd like to say that we haven't positively ID'd _anybody _in the building right now, so I think it would be in your best interest to go home."

"The hell it would be!" Abby growled, momentarily forgetting that Vance was her boss, "I _know _who's in there! And so do you!"

"Abbs, calm down," Gibbs said soothingly, putting a hand on the young woman's shoulder. "It's not gonna do them any good if we're all out here fighting about positive IDs."

Abby whirled around and flung her arms around him, "Gibbs! I was so worried! I-"

"What do you mean," Fornell butted in, "that you know who's in there?"

Immediately, Abby released her hold on Gibbs. She rummaged in the pocket of her black coat for a moment before pulling out her wallet, a skull pen, and a pair of bat earrings, all of which she handed to Ducky, asking if he could hold them for a bit. She did a bit more digging, this time in the other pocket, and soon she held a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. She unfolded it carefully, so as not to tear it or smudge the ink, and handed it over to the senior FBI agent, "This is how I knew to come here. I mean, besides Gibbs' weird, middle-of-the-night call. By the way," she addressed Gibbs now, "how come _you _didn't tell me anything? I could expect that from, like, Vance or-"

She was cut off by the sound of Fornell clearing his throat, preparing to read the note aloud. He looked at the people assembled before him, as if expecting a sudden outburst from the group. When he was satisfied that no one would, he began to read:

_"Dear Abigail,_

_ My name is Eamon and I know we've never met before, but, as such a crucial member of "Team Gibbs", I felt that I simply _must _get to know you better. I was hoping that we could meet sometime? Face to face? And we could discuss you and your team._

_ It's all just _so _fascinating to me, the way your team functions. Especially your fearless leader, Gibbs, so strong yet so very vulnerable, and only vulnerable as a result of the people around him. You see, over time I've discovered that a person's only weakness is the other people in their lives. And, in Jethro's case, that would be you and his team due to the lack of a real family._

_ I intend on getting to know all of you better. Your strengths... and your weaknesses._

_ I know I'm neglecting you by being with the others at the moment, but don't worry! As soon as I'm done with Timothy, Anthony, and Ziva you and the others will have your time to get to know me._

_ Sincerely, Eamon."_

Another bout of silence reigned while it all sunk in. Ducky, however, was the first to speak, "What does he mean 'when he's done'?"

Gibbs, Vance, and Fornell exchanged subtle glances. They all had their own ideas about what it meant. Surprisingly, all of them were the same.

But it wasn't any of the three who answered the coroner.

"What it means," Abby said, her voice wavering, "is that he's gonna kill them."

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

Ziva glared daggers at their captor, all the while wishing she had real daggers to throw at him. He was lucky that he'd missed her first throw. Lucky and nothing more. There was no way he could've been trained to do that, because if he had... Ziva shook her head slightly, she didn't want to think about what that could mean.

She glanced at McGee, who was currently being forced to handcuff both of his hands to a leg of his desk. He didn't make eye contact with the man, but did as he was told. Soon, he was sitting with his back to his desk, unable to stand, and both hands handcuffed behind him to it.

Then Ziva looked at Tony. He'd realized after a moment or two that shots were no longer being fired and that the man wasn't buying his "play dead" act. He was staring, stone-faced, into the distance. He didn't try and move to take out the man for the same reason Ziva didn't. The man, while giving McGee orders, still had a gun trained on each of the agents. They didn't dare move for fear of being shot, though Ziva would much rather prefer that to the humiliation of being forced to handcuff herself.

"Who are you?" Tony asked sharply, suddenly coming out of his trancelike state.

The brunette man smiled a smile that made Tony cringe and instantly regret saying anything at all, but he just couldn't stand the silence. He glanced at McGee once, just to make sure he was really cuffed, and then answered, "My name is Eamon, and I'm glad you asked because we'll be spending _much _more time together before the day is done. Isn't that exciting?"

"Of course," Tony said sarcastically, which turned out to be a bad move.

Eamon, suddenly overcome with rage, snarled, "I don't take sarcasm well, Anthony, you should mind your manners." Then, as quickly as the rage had come, it was gone again. The corners of Eamon's mouth jerked up, "Next time you misbehave there will be consequences." His gaze flicked to Ziva for only a millisecond, signaling that this applied to her as well.

Ziva had the urge to be sarcastic herself just to antagonize him, but she knew that wasn't what the situation called for. Sarcasm wouldn't help. She needed to take action. Glancing around, Ziva could find several objects that could be used as a weapon, but sadly, she wouldn't have enough time to use them. She only had to be half a second slower and she'd be dead.

"Now," Eamon's voice startled the three members of the MCRT, they still couldn't get used to the fact that they were being held captive, "I want the two of you to do the same as Agent McGee, and know this: if you disobey my orders, one of your teammates will pay the price."

Any hesitation they might've felt about doing this was banished as soon as Eamon added that little rule. None of them wanted to be the cause of another's suffering or pain.

After a few more minutes they all had their hands handcuffed behind them to their respective desks. It was funny how a place they were every day, a place they used to work and tease one another, could be used for such awful purposes. They'd never thought to be playing the role of prisoners in a place that might as well have been their home for all the time they spent there.

"Now that everybody's ready to go," Eamon's lips curled into a twisted, secretive smile, as if he was privy to some huge piece of information, "we can begin the game. I don't think Gibbs will mind if I assume that he's used his turn."

At the mention of their boss, the three teammates remembered exactly who they were relying on. They felt relief blossom in their hearts, each of them was sure that Gibbs would come to their rescue before anything happened. He was Gibbs, after all. Stubborn, fearless, unstoppable Gibbs. They had no doubt their rescue was imminent.

"We'll start with a game of Truth or Dare," Eamon continued, "but in this case, I think it would more accurate if we called it Truth or Consequences. You see, if you don't tell me what I want to know, someone else will suffer the consequences."

Tony and McGee exchanged apprehensive glances, while Ziva continued to glare at Eamon, who saw the glances that were exchanged. His smile widened, revealing surprisingly white teeth, "We'll start with you, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony, surprised, sat ramrod straight as Eamon approached him. Wild theories ran through his head as to what he might be asked. He could only hope he'd answer right.

Eamon knelt down in front of the senior field agent, taunting him by placing one of his guns just out of Tony's reach, "We'll start with an easy question, shall we?" When he didn't get an immediate answer he proceeded on, "Have you ever slept with a woman named Katherine Georges?"

That was _definitely _not the question he'd been expecting, because Tony's only response was, "What?"

Eamon frowned, he didn't like having to repeat himself. The question itself was simple, he couldn't fathom why there was no immediate answer. He repeated himself, pausing every once and a while in order for the words to sink in, "Have. You ever. Slept with. A woman named. Katherine Georges?"

Tony couldn't recall a girl by that name, but then again, he couldn't remember half the names of all the girls he'd been with. So his answer was, "Uh, no?"

Eamon stood up right then, but instead of answering he walked away from Tony, past McGee's desk, and bent over to grab something off the floor. He then turned back to the group, revealing Ziva's blade in his fist. They all tensed, this wasn't going the way they'd hoped.

He walked until he stood directly in the center of all three, then, after waiting a few moments in silence to build up the tension, he shook his head, looking disappointed, "Wrong answer."

Then Eamon lunged, plunging the knife into one of Tony's closest friends.

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

**_A/N: Mwahaha! I'm evil, I know :) Let me know in a review who you think got stabbed :)_**

**_Maybe if I get more reviews I'll update sooner instead of leaving you in suspense for a while. What? A writer can hope :)_**

**_PS: I couldn't help but add "Truth or Consequences" to the story. It is my fav episode_**


	3. Of Hidden Cameras and Hidden Coroners

**_A/N: So sorry for the lack of updates, but I've got no excuse for it today. Things might get better when I have a break, but I've got a lot of other stories going on at the moment. I've got 3 Psych stories and 2 Criminal Minds stories to finish besides this one._**

**_I hope I portrayed everyone accurately!_**

**_PS: Congrats to everyone who guessed right! Those of you who didn't... well, your time to be right might come soon ;)_**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own NCIS. Though, I am quite fond of Eamon right now... What can I say? It's the crazies that are the most interesting ;)**

**ENJOY!**

_** OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

They watched in horrified fascination as the scene played out. It seemed to happen in slow motion. One minute, Eamon was asking Tony if he'd ever slept with a woman named Katherine. The next, Eamon was standing before them.

"Wrong answer."

And then he turned and, with Ziva's knife, stabbed Timothy McGee in the thigh.

McGee cried out; the pain was so sudden, so unexpected. Though, in truth, the initial stab he could've handled. It was when Eamon twisted the knife that true agony ruled his being.

Eamon pulled the blade out of the agent's flesh slowly, relishing the intense pleasure the attack had brought him. He watched as the tip of the knife finally slipped from the man's leg and the blood was pumped out. Excitement glowed in his brown eyes as he continued to watch. For a moment, his world was silent, blissful. But then, as the minutes ticked by and the blood flow slowed, the pleasure diminished.

He turned to face the others, pleased with the expressions on their faces. Finally, they realized just how much power Eamon truly possessed. A sunny smile crossed his face, "Now that I have demonstrated the consequences you may face, we can continue with the game!" A good-humored chuckle escaped his throat.

Ziva didn't hear Eamon as he spoke, not really. Right then, her whole world comprised of McGee. Her friend, who was currently bleeding from a wound to his leg. A wound caused by her own blade. The guilt was unbearable. If she hadn't thrown the knife, Eamon wouldn't have stabbed McGee with it, and Ziva wouldn't be feeling McGee's pain as if it were her own. The thought, the "what-if", made her think. What _would_ Eamon have done in absence of her knife?

Tony, on the other hand, heard Eamon's words all to clearly. Even over the beat of his own hear, which whispered _"Your fault your fault your fault" _to him with every thump. He couldn't tear his eyes away from his colleague. McGee, who was now suffering on account of Tony's idiotic answer. He reprimanded himself every time McGee dew another, shuddering breath. The poor guy tried not to show it, but it was painfully obvious to everyone else how much he was suffering.

So, until Eamon asked his next question, Tony and Ziva suffered along with McGee. All the while, they prayed that Gibbs would come soon.

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

The group outside had gone back to bickering with one another. Abby and Ducky argued against Vance and Fornell. The former wanted to get someone inside the building while Vance and Fornell were insisting that they needed to figure out whom this guy really was. Gibbs just watched in stony silence.

Then, the agent from before, Braxton, approached once again. The others didn't notice at first, even as the young FBI agent stood there nervously, waiting to speak.

"Hey!" Gibbs barked, garnering the attention of the others. Ducky was inquisitive, Abby contrite, Vance annoyed, and Fornell was just tired. They all looked expectantly at the young man before them.

"Uh-um," Braxton began. "W-we tra-traced the c-ca-call to a... a c-cell phone i-inside NCIS. H-he-here's the n-name." He handed Gibbs a crumpled piece of notebook paper. On it was a phone number and a name scrawled underneath it. Gibbs couldn't help but notice that he'd been right. He wouldn't be getting his phone back any time soon.

"Tobias," Gibbs shoved the paper at him. He looked at him expectantly, holding out his hand, "Phone?"

Fornell grumbled something along the lines of "arrogant son of a bitch", but still handed over his old Nokia to the NCIS agent. He held Gibbs' gaze for a moment, silently telling him not to ruin their chances of making any progress. Gibbs seemed to understand this.

He punched in a series of numbers, though he hadn't even looked at the number written on the paper, and held the phone to his ear as it rang. Of course he wouldn't be so kind as to put it on speakerphone. Abby cocked her head slightly, "Whose number was it, Gibbs?"

After receiving no answer from him, Abby turned to Fornell. He held out the paper willingly, a grim look in his eyes. What was written on the paper certainly didn't bode well in his opinion. She had no idea yet, and snatched the paper eagerly.

Abby took one glance at the paper and her eyes widened. One of her arms wrapped around her middle, holding tight, while the other hand came up to cover her mouth. She let out a strangled sound of distress. The paper fluttered down to meet the pavement.

"Abigail," Ducky's eyes held concern for the young woman, he put a hand on her back and patted her comfortingly. "Who was it?"

"Take a look for yourself," Vance said, handing over the paper he had just previously retrieved from the ground.

Ducky took it, wondering why no one ever said anything out loud anymore. He was shocked to find that written on the dirty, crumpled piece of paper, were two words they all knew so well. A very familiar name, and they knew it was no coincidence that person's phone had called Gibbs' home.

Written clear as day on that paper, was the name _Anthony DiNozzo._

_**OOOOOOOooooOOOOOO**_

The ringing came from Eamon's pocket. The incessant noise intruded upon Tony's guilt-stricken thoughts. Tony glanced up, glaring at the man who had handcuffed him to his own desk. Eamon smiled back at him and pulled from his pocket a cell phone. Tony's eyes widened as he realized that it was his own phone Eamon was holding.

The Bastard, a nickname Tony had just given Eamon, grinned like he'd been waiting for it to happen. He was practically bouncing on his toes. He quickly answered the call, "Jethro! I've just been dying to speak with you again!"

At the mention of their boss, two of the MCRT members perked up. The other however, just sat there breathing deeply, trying to regulate his pain. They tried to be quiet, listening for their leader's voice. Seeing this, Eamon decided to indulge them and turned it on speaker.

"What do you want?" Gibbs got right down to it. His already gruff voice had an edge to it, one the team had heard often enough. They heard it when Gibbs was interrogating a particularly irritating, arrogant suspect.

"Why, I only want to get to know you better! You _and _your team." Eamon looked at the assembled people pointedly. "Speaking of, how is my dear Abigail? Did she get my note?"

Upon hearing Abby's name, McGee's head snapped up. And even though his eyes were glazed with pain, he managed to add some sort of menace in the glare he sent Eamon. Then the psycho smirked, as if he had anticipated the reaction and elicited it for that exact reason. To McGee's credit, he never backed down.

"Well," Gibbs drawled, ignoring Eamon's last questions, "that would be a whole lot easier if you let me into the building." Clearly Gibbs was trying to find a way inside the building. A way that wouldn't risk anyone's life but his own.

"Silly, Jethro," Eamon chuckled, which put everyone on edge. "I couldn't do _that _without disarming the bombs!" He laughed maniacally after that.

Tony and Ziva exchanged glances. If Eamon had taken the time to secure bombs in the building, he certainly wasn't going to let anyone leave. Or live, for that matter.

"Although," Eamon said slowly, making sure he had Gibbs' attention before continuing, "we soon may be in need of someone with medical experience."

"What did you do?" Gibbs snapped. The three teammates in the room could practically see their boss's glare. Tony and Ziva even felt it, as if Gibbs really were there and blaming them for what happened to McGee.

"Tell you what," Eamon skirted around the truth with practiced ease. "You send in your medical examiner, Dr. Mallard, I believe, and I will refrain from causing Agent McGee any further pain at my hands."

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

Gibbs had turned the phone on speaker, at Fornell's insistence, almost as soon as the call had been picked up. When she heard Eamon reveal that McGee had been injured, Abby let out a choked sob, fear and worry for McGee written plainly on her face. She breathed deeply, trying to calm herself, as Gibbs actually considered Eamon's proposal.

"No," Vance ordered. His mouth was set in a tight frown. There was no way he was letting one of his people go in there, even if an agent was injured. He couldn't risk it. Especially now that it had been confirmed who the hostages are. There was protocol to follow, and he wouldn't let anyone breach protocol. Not when lives were on the line.

Gibbs continued to contemplate the offer. He didn't like what Eamon was demanding, but he didn't see any other way of getting eyes inside the building. He needed to assess the situation, and if McGee really was hurt something needed to be done. He looked to Ducky for permission. There was no way he'd send his old friend in there without his consent. Screw Vance, it was Ducky's decision that mattered.

The ME nodded, "I have to help Timothy."

Fornell didn't even bother to protest. He knew that Gibbs would do whatever he thought was best for his people, and oftentimes what he thought was best actually _was _best after all. Though at this point, it was too soon to tell.

"Alright," Gibbs relented.

"Good!" Eamon's excited voice chirped through the phone, "I want Dr. Mallard to come through the front door only, and he will then proceed to take the elevator up to where I am. Only the elevator. I believe you know the floor, right Jethro?"

Gibbs grunted in response. Just because he was going along with this guy's plan didn't mean he liked it. It went against his grain to put his friend in harm's way, but it had to be done.

"He will bring only a basic first aid kit, nothing else," Eamon instructed. "No cameras, earwigs, or anything of the variety will be permitted. If I find such things, one of your agents will be shot."

"Anything else?" Gibbs asked sarcastically. It felt wrong to be taking orders from a psychopath, but there was no way around it.

"I believe that is all," Eamon told him, taking his question literally. "Goodbye, Jethro. I do hope we chat again _very _soon!" With that the line went dead.

_I've made my move, _Gibbs quoted mentally, _now it's your turn._

"Oh, Ducky!" Abby had come out of her shocked stupor, and now she had her arms wrapped around the elderly ME. "You can't go! What if you get hurt? Or shot?"

Ducky chuckled quietly, "I know, Abigail, but I have to do this."

Abby's only response was to hug him tighter and whisper, "Be careful."

Vance, on the other hand, was intending on saying any goodbyes. He was furious. "What do you think you're doing, Gibbs? You're going to get someone killed!"

Gibbs looked Vance straight in the eye, "We need eyes inside the building, but we can't get any in there. He's got bombs, and we don't have a clue where any of them are. This is the only surefire way inside."

Vance pinched the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb, appearing deep in thought. "Fine, but only because you already said we would do this. Next time," Vance paused, meeting Gibbs' eyes again, "you listen to _me._" Gibbs nodded once, but Vance was sure he didn't mean it. Gibbs never listened to _anyone._

"Alright, Duck," Gibbs turned his attention to his friend. "Let's get you ready to go."

Fornell, taking this as his cue, called over the frat boy agent from before. He asked the kid to get them a first aid kit and a hidden camera.

This demand confused Ducky and Abby. The Goth had disentangled herself from her former embrace, she looked at Gibb's with confusion on her face and fear in her eyes. "He said no cameras," she stated.

"I know, Abbs." Gibbs turned his back to her as the Frat Boy approached with a big white case and a small button. Gibbs watched as Fornell retrieved them from the young agent.

"We need to see what's going on in there," Gibbs continued. "We have to do this."

Fornell handed the first aid kit to Ducky, and then he showed him the small button. "Replace the button on your pants with this, he shouldn't be able to tell it's there. Since you tuck your shirt into your pants nothing should get in it's way, and nothing will seem out of place."

"What if he finds that it really is a camera?" Ducky inquired.

"Don't let him," Gibbs said simply. "Be careful, Duck."

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

Worry consumed Tony DiNozzo at that moment. Ducky was coming up. He couldn't be responsible for yet another of his friends. He just couldn't. He wouldn't be able to stop Eamon if he decided to attack again, and that killed him. The helplessness was eating at Tony. He hadn't felt this way since Somalia, and even then he'd had some sort of a plan. Now, however, he had no such thing.

He counted the seconds, the minutes, as they went by. Ducky still hadn't arrived. It was comforting to him that he hadn't, yet at the same time it was worrisome. What would Eamon do if Ducky didn't show? Or worse, what would he do if he _did _show?

Just then the elevator doors dinged open. Tony and Ziva's heads snapped up, while McGee remained slumped where he sat. He wasn't unconscious, far from it. He was completely aware, but he just couldn't find the energy to look up. The knife had gone pretty deep into his thigh, and he'd lost quite a bit of blood. Not enough to be too worrisome, not yet. The wound itself ached dully with each pump of his heart, and from the sluggish blood flow and the fact that he wasn't dead yet, McGee deduced that the knife hadn't hit an artery.

"Dr. Mallard!" Eamon's cheery, nothing-is-wrong voice broke the silence. "How wonderful for you to join us!"

Ducky stepped out of the elevator warily, taking in the scene before him. As he moved closer to the where Jethro and his agents worked, he could see what had happened. Each agent was handcuffed to a leg of his or her desk, and there were two bullet holes in front of Ziva and Tony.

Having seen that the former were fine, Ducky hurried to reach McGee only to be stopped by Eamon. He looked up at the man to see the crazed eyes of a maniac. It didn't frighten him in the least, the only thing on his mind at that moment was concern for the young man slumped against his desk.

"You wouldn't happen to be wearing an earpiece or hidden camera, would you Doctor?" Eamon asked suspiciously.

Ducky didn't even blink. "No."

Eamon took a step back and looked him over with a critical eye. Apparently, he found nothing of any suspicion, because he then let the doctor tend to McGee.

"Timothy?" Ducky questioned softly. He was rewarded when McGee looked up at him. Ducky knelt on the floor beside him and opened the first aid kit he had been allowed to bring with him.

Ducky didn't need to ask what happened. He had seen the bloody knife in Eamon's hand, and McGee's wound. He examined the injury a bit closer, relieved to find that the blade hadn't hit an artery. His first aid supply was lacking in specific medical tools, but Ducky did what he could with what he had. Soon, McGee's injury was cleaned and bandaged. Ducky didn't have any painkillers, but he supposed the wound would become somewhat numb soon. He sat beside McGee, not handcuffed, but also not free to leave.

"Good," Eamon spoke up, "now that the good doctor has finished his work we can get back to the game." Ducky saw Tony and Ziva stiffen. This "game" must be something bad, he thought.

"Seeing as Agent McGee is not fit to participate right now, we shall move on to Dr. Mallard." Eamon smiled again, sending chills down Ducky's spine.

"Dr. Mallard," Eamon began, "are you or are you not wearing a hidden camera?"

Ducky froze, he had thought Eamon believed he wasn't wearing anything. Apparently, the man hadn't bought his act. _Well_, Ducky thought, _I suppose I'll have to be a bit better this time._

"No," Ducky insisted.

Eamon looked down at the knife in his hand. He ran the blade over his hand, smearing McGee's blood across his palm, building the tension in the room. He frowned slightly. "Really?" His tone was light, but the single word was heavy with meaning. He took a step closer to Ducky.

He knelt down beside him, just as Ducky had done with McGee. He put his lips just inches from the ME's ear.

"I don't believe you," he hissed.

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

Outside the building, the other group watched the video feed anxiously. They had lost sight of the man they assumed to be Eamon. After they'd gotten the initial first look they'd had someone run a facial recognition, but had gotten no results as of yet.

According to Gibbs, losing sight of Eamon was not good. "He knows," Gibbs growled. How could he know? Gibbs didn't know the answer to that question. There were dozens of theories in his mind, but he didn't have the patience to settle on one at the moment. The whole situation was just too frustrating.

Suddenly, the feed from the camera was jerky. It was being moved around, that much they could tell. Soon, they saw that Gibbs was right. Eamon did know, because just then they were shown an image of Ducky, looking shocked, sitting next to McGee, who had a bandage around his thigh. Then they were shown Tony and Ziva, both of whom were sitting in front of their own desks. Gibbs assumed they were being kept there somehow. Handcuffs most likely. The only reassuring thing they noticed was the lack of a gunshot victim. Earlier, when the shots were

The four watched in silence as the video feed was terminated and all they saw was snow.

Then, Abby started sniffling quietly. Gibbs turned to look at her. She was still focused on the computer screen, though nothing was being displayed. Gibbs moved and put his arms around her. Abby quickly did the same, her body trembling.

"It'll be okay, Abbs," Gibbs said, for once sugar-coating the truth. Enough had gone wrong tonight, and the truth, even if she already knew it, wouldn't help her one bit.

"No, no it won't, Gibbs." Abby's voice wavered when she spoke, "He's gonna shoot one of them. He said so."

The only thing Gibbs said in response was, "They can take care of themselves, Abbs."

Just then, yet another FBI agent scurried over. "Sir," the agent, a short woman with brown hair that had been pulled into a ponytail, addressed Fornell.

"Yes?" Apprehension coiled in Fornell's gut as he spoke.

"We heard another gunshot," the agent reported. The men in the group took the news stoically, though each one had a different scenario playing out in his mind. Each one involved a brutal, bloody death.

Abby's body trembled as intense sobs racked her body for a minute. Then she controlled herself. She moved away from Gibbs, and everyone could see the mascara tracks on her cheeks. She hiccupped as the tears somewhat subsided. She couldn't believe it. Another one of her close friends shot. What if someone died? The thought made tears threaten to spill over her lashes again. Instead she held them back, wanting to appear brave.

"Anything else?" Fornell questioned. The agent nodded, and with that simple movement gained the attention of everyone around her.

The agent didn't even blush. "Through the digital log of all NCIS employees, we were able to discover that one employee didn't leave the building last night."

"Who?" Gibbs barked before Vance could say anything, his patience wearing thin. Someone had just shot one of his agents, and he didn't have a clue which one it was.

"Jimmy Palmer," the agent said, this time blushing at the informal use of 'Jimmy'. It would seem that she knew the Medical Examiner's assistant. "He never left. He's still in there."

Vance exchanged conspiratorial glances with Fornell and Gibbs. "It looks like we may have found our new inside man."

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

_**Don't worry, guys! This story IS going somewhere!**_

_**Oh, and sorry for any OOC-ness in this chapter. I was tired when I wrote it, and I wrote it all in one sitting.**_

**_Don't forget to tell me what you guys think, any theories, or ideas, ANYTHING!_**

**_PS: I DO think Abby would react that way to McGee's injury, Ducky going in even though there's danger, and someone being shot._**

**____********_Please REVIEW. Reviews give me encouragement to continue!_**   



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